…..CHAPTER 26…..
November 15th
Grocery shopping was one of Oliver’s odd pleasures. He didn’t cook in his House apartment very often due to spending so much time with Oscar’s family, but when he did, it was fun. A fun he couldn’t really share with many people. At the Dale-Carson house, he helped Tracy all the time these days. He’d started learning how, the very day Oscar brought him to their house to meet Tracy. It was relaxing, it was fulfilling…he loved cooking and food, and time spent with family.
“Hey, we need sour cream for the stroganoff we’re making tomorrow,” Tracy said, pointing at the dairy case.
Oliver perked up even more—he didn’t need to be told twice. He headed over, found the brand Tracy preferred. Hmmm…how much? The containers were all sorts of sizes. Scouring memory of the fridge’s contents, he thought the larger size was the one they usually picked.
Oliver turned from the dairy shelves with the sour cream in hand and almost ran over another man. He bounced back on his toes, an apology on his lips as he met his gaze…
His breath caught in his throat as he saw Paxton’s face, Pax’s equally green eyes widening as he recognized him. “Oli,” he whispered.
Oliver swallowed hard, then whirled and almost ran to Oscar, dropped the plastic container in the cart and muttered something about the bathroom.
“Oli, wait!” Pax called.
He hurried away, mind and body beneath a smothering blanket of fear and pain—the suddenness hit him like physical blows. He couldn’t deal with this, couldn’t look at him… Overwhelmed with the past, blindsided by the sudden onslaught of memory…
“Oli!” he yelled with frustrated anger. Dimly he heard Oscar talking, hard words. He didn’t wait to hear them.
“Oliver,” Tracy said, and his elbow was seized.
He tried to push Tracy’s hand off him, fumbling in blind panic, but the big man held on, swinging him around.
Tracy’s blue eyes went wide as he saw his face, then Oliver was swamped in his arms. He stood rigidly, shaking.
“Oliver?” Cara whispered.
He shook his head. “J-just let me go,” he said, voice a wobbling mess. “Bathroom. I won’t run, I promise.”
Tracy held him tighter. His words were clipped when he spoke. “Cara, go get Micah, alright? Keep the grocery cart between you and that man. Hold onto Micah’s hand and don’t let go. Bring him to the men’s bathroom and come inside with us. If Micah argues, use our code word.”
Cara left immediately.
Then Tracy was dragging him to the bathroom and Oliver kept his face down, dimly aware of the watching people.
In the bathroom, Tracy stood him next to the sink, pulled a few paper towels and wet them, rung them out, then gently started washing his face.
He realized then that he was crying, as he desperately swiped at the scars around his cuff.
“You’re safe, Oliver. Oscar and I will keep you safe,” he murmured gently, a soft rumble that managed to work its way through the panic and pain.
Tracy’s cell chirped a text and he paused long enough to glance at it and send a short answer.
Oscar no doubt.
Tracy took his hand to keep him from rubbing the scars. “Come on, Oliver. You’re safe. Look at me.”
The door of the bathroom opened and Cara and Micah came in, holding hands. “Daddy’s trying to make the other guy calm down,” Micah said, voice subdued, but the wide eyes spoke of fear.
Oliver gulped down his panic. “I’m alright. I…”
Cara charged into him and Oliver gave a little “ooph,” as she did. Her arms wrapped around him and Oliver wished she wouldn’t. He felt ridiculous. His mind settling, he felt like an idiot, and a crying baby on top of it.
It was just the shock of it. He hadn’t seen Pax since…
No, he couldn’t think of it, he’d bawl again.
“Who was he?” Tracy asked softly.
Oliver looked away. “My brother Paxton,” he whispered.
“Shit,” he breathed, rubbed a hand down his face. “I thought it might be something like that. Did you leave on good terms with him?”
Oliver shrugged. “We used to be close. But he always tried to be like Dad… H-hated witches. And he called Dad that night. I mean—I know he was scared, too… But he called Dad…”
“Okay,” he interrupted. “Let’s get you and the kids to the car. Oscar can deal with him.”
“Yes, sir,” he whispered numbly.
“What did you call me?”
Oliver blinked and swung around to face Tracy who stared at him with shock on his face. Tracy gave himself a shake. “Never mind. Come on.”
Oliver followed the kids from the bathroom, with Tracy behind him as they turned right, away from where Oscar and Paxton stood arguing. A few customers watched, wary, and in the distance a security guard was approaching with a stern face.
Paxton saw Oliver anyway and called out. Oliver flinched and hurried on, head down, arms wrapped around his middle, hurting so bad all he could do was follow.
“Oli, please!”
He flinched again at the hurt and desperation in Pax’s voice, but his feet shuffled faster.
“I’m sorry!” Paxton called.
He stopped, searching the floor for the reason why. Paxton had always teased him, what with the witch blood in their family on both sides. Oliver was always so different. No one really believed he was a witch. Until that night of green magic in his hands, and Dad’s fists coming for him. It was hardly the first time, he was so used to it.
But that night there was something vicious about Dad, something terrible. His green magic had reflected in Dad’s eyes, reflected back a wild look that Oliver now knew was hatred—and maybe even a little bit of crazy.
“Oli…” he whispered from close behind him.
Oliver shook his head, still searching the stupid grocery store floor.
“Please. I’m sorry. I didn’t know Dad would… I didn’t know, I swear,” he pleaded, voice hitching.
“I know.”
“Please, can I talk to you?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he whispered, his own sounds unsteady.
“Oli, I…”
“He prefers Oliver,” Cara said sharply.
“Oliver,” Pax corrected. Footsteps moved around him and he saw Pax’s loafers, the turned cuffs of his navy slacks. A hesitant hand rose from his side then dropped. “Oliver, please look at me.” His voice sounded broken.
He shook his head. “Just go away, Pax. I’m a witch.”
“I know. Believe me,” he said bitterly. “Mom wouldn’t tell me what she did with you. I looked for you for years.”
Oliver’s breath escaped in a shaky laugh. “Yeah, Mom was as bad as…”
And then Pax grabbed him and Oliver couldn’t breathe. It might have something to do with how hard his brother hugged him. But it was more likely the aching grief of loss-of-self, of pain and degradation, of loneliness and fear.
Memory wracked him. That which separated him from the only life he knew, from his siblings and parents, on the last morning of his life, after he’d killed and proved he wasn’t human…
“Go on, Oli. Get in the car. These nice men will take you to a nice place and teach you.”
Oliver looked at the two men, looked at the car, his instincts uneasy inside. It wasn’t official looking at all, like a state car would; he’d seen plenty of them to know. This car looked fancy, but bleak. Besides, it was night. State workers wouldn’t be awake right now, would they?
He looked back at them, then up at Mom. “Mom?” he whispered, scared and hoping she wouldn’t send him away. “I don’t want to go.”
“You have to. You’re a witch now, Oli. You have to be separated from normal people. You’re too dangerous. I mean, look at what you did to your dad.”
Her voice. It was always so hard to know what she meant. Her words said one thing, her tone another. The mocking sound confused him, and one of the men gave a derisive snort. Oliver swallowed hard, wishing Pax was here. But Pax was at Grandma’s house three streets over, and baby Savannah was still asleep in her crib.
“I’ll be good, I promise, Mom,” he whimpered.
She shook her head sadly. “It’s too late. You already killed your dad. Who else will you kill? Pax? Me? Savannah?” She gave an impatient sound. “Just do me a favor and get in the car. You’ll be fine.”
Oliver was pushed toward the car, her hand between his shoulder blades, feet skidding a little on the asphalt. She stopped pushing as they arrived just feet in front of the men. One handed her a thick envelope. Mom opened it and he caught a glimpse of money in the dim orange light of the street lamp above their heads.
One man took his elbow, surprisingly gentle.
Mom didn’t even glance at him as he was pulled further toward the maw of the open car door, flicking through the bills inside, the green paper that he somehow understood was his worth.
He didn’t notice the plush interior more than noting how butter soft the leather was, and how the two men loomed over him on each side as he hugged himself through the journey. When they arrived at what looked like a manufacturing plant, with steam rising at the back, the car stopped.
“Why isn’t Jerry opening the gate?” the oldest man growled.
“Fucker’s probably asleep. I’ll check,” the younger man muttered, opened the door and stepped out.
Oliver stared at that factory. This was not the Academy. He knew that at least. And with growing dread he knew he couldn’t go in there.
Oliver rolled away from the old man, narrowly missed his surprised attempt to snatch his shirt. He fell from the car right behind the younger man, and immediately pushed off with his feet. The man turned from talking to someone at the sound of the old man’s shout.
Oliver didn’t look. He just ran. And he didn’t stop as he ducked into the maze of alleys and businesses, and he never looked back.
Two months later, those men caught him anyway, snatching him from one hell and dropping him into another.
Oliver sobbed in his brother’s arms. Between them his right hand was wringing his scarred left wrist so hard it hurt, and he wanted to stop being such a pathetic lump. But he couldn’t stop it. Years of hurt, misery, fear… His mind reeled from pain to mortification to anger and back again. He couldn’t settle his mind, and that hurt almost as much as the memories.
In the middle of a fucking grocery store. What the hell was wrong with him? He couldn’t even suck it up long enough to find a nice dark hole in the ground to bawl like a baby.
“Mom sold me to the Kiplings,” he cried jerkily. He couldn’t seem to get enough air, chest tight, throat constricted. “But I ran away. But they caught me, Pax. And put me in a catchment and beat me, and…and…drained me until I couldn’t fight back. Drained me so they could beat me. I couldn’t even move, while they laughed, their faces like monsters that loomed and mocked…” And his body jerked helplessly to their blows and their kicks. His mind whirled, losing all contact with his surroundings now…
Dimly Oliver heard Tracy’s voice but didn’t hear his words over his own stupid crying.
“He was seven,” Pax whispered above his head, arms tightening even more.
“Oh god,” Tracy choked brokenly.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Oscar said sharply.
And then the cuff jolted on his wrist and blackness wrapped around his mind in blessed relief.